Day 117 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Incorporate the word “skeleton.”

Erin: When I walked out onto the stage the bright lights hit me. I squinted and tried to imagine that I was at home looking into the lamp that overlapped my line of sight in bed. It didn’t work. I turned into a skeleton of my bubbly self as my brain could not be tricked by my hopes.

Shannon: “I can’t do this,” I stated, shaking my head as we all stood outside the back door under the cover of night and behind Mr. Withers’ collection of backyard junk and unmanaged shrubs and trees. We were all waiting for Jim to finish picking the lock. “Please, can we just let this go? Let the man rest in peace.”

Mark turned his back, tuning me out. Pete put up his hands, “Calm down. It’s a quick peak and we’re already here. You don’t want to turn back now, do you?”

I didn’t need more than a second to think about it. “Yes I do,” I turned to walk away as I heard Jim quietly celebrating over the open door. Ally took ahold of my shoulders and I tried to shake her off, but her grip was strong. “No. We all waited too long. I’m not letting you miss out. You’ve come this far,” she maneuvered in front of me. “I won’t let you miss out on this,” she tried to lead me back.

“It feels wrong,” I wouldn’t budge.

She looked to the side and then back to me. “Well I think it shows we actually cared about him. Everybody else in the neighborhood is just going to forget and act like he never existed, because he was strange. At least he mattered to us.”

I furrowed my brow, “Only because you thought he was weird,” I argued, annoyed, and a bit too loud.

“Jen be quiet,” Jim whispered. “Are coming in or not?”

“Coming,” Ally answered for me and hooked my arm with hers until we were inside. Then she quickly abandoned me to cozy up to Mark as her new shield.

I went off on my own to look around right after Jim switched on a light. You never knew if the man was home, because his curtains were always closed and not even the slightest sliver of light would ever show through them, so we were sure we were safe.

I heard Ally scream, and it made me jump. “I knew it,” Mark called out. They were way ahead of us since he was using the flashlight on his phone. “Come see this,” he yelled.

We quickly walked over to see they had opened one of his closets and they were flashing a light on a skeleton hanging up. I felt a surge of panic. It looked like one you’d see in classroom, but I still wasn’t expecting it. Maybe their suspicions were right. Maybe he did have something to hide.

Throw a skeleton into your story.

Day 116 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Incorporate a weird belief someone has.

Shannon: There were a lot of rumors about Mr. Withers, and any time we were in the vicinity of his house they would come back up. It left a lot of room for my imagination to get carried away. My mind wasn’t as vicious as some of the other kids. I wasn’t accusing him of hoarding dead bodies, or anything evil. I guess I always kind of figured his anger and loner-behavior just seemed a little misunderstood.

Sure I didn’t completely rule out the possibility he had some creepy possessions, but I only pictured things like ventriloquist dolls or other unfamiliar antiques. Since it was an unpopular belief, I never told anyone that I believed he was normal and that we wouldn’t find anything too out of the ordinary. That’s why I wanted to see his house. One, so nobody could lie about what they found. Two, so I could see each of their faces when they found out they were wrong him.

Erin: Despite having convinced myself otherwise however, I was convinced that I could do it. For one reason and one alone: horoscopes.

Mine had said I would be taking a step to change the course of my life. It also said there was success in my future. Who was me, myself, and I to question the stars?

If I knew how to interpret my fate at all, this was going to work. This was my future and inevitably I was going to succeed. I knew being a Virgo would pay off some day. Things were finally looking up.

Make your character believe something most others do not.

Day 115 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Start with your character talking to them self.

Erin: “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, I can.”

“You’ve never done this.”

“Even Beyoncé hadn’t ever sung at one point in her life.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t have her first show at Madison Square Garden.”

“True.”

I had somehow managed to convince myself I was crazy. Thinking about that statement I don’t need convincing, I am crazy.

Shannon: What is inside Mr. Withers’ house? That was the question plaguing my mind the entire afternoon. It was a question I used to often ask myself when when I was little kid, back when I was terrified of its haunting exterior. Who am I kidding? His place still freaks me out now that I’m in high school, but over the years I’d learned to stop caring as I accepted the fact that the rest of the neighborhood kids and I would never have the guts to find out. However, my curiosity was rekindled when Mark slid the obituary section of the newspaper across the table during our lunch period. Mr. Withers passed away in his sleep.

Mark wanted to go inside now that the biggest barrier was gone, and he’d scooped out the best night for us to sneak in. “This Friday I’m going. I don’t care if anyone joins me, but this may be your last chance,” his arguments were always meant to linger. He once told me they more effective that way. Yet I didn’t know if it was worth the trouble we’d get in if anyone caught us. Even worse, the inside could be exactly what our imaginations had built up, and why did we want to see it?

Was it better to not know? Would I be missing out? Was I seriously considering going? The man just died. Was I that heartless? Ok, I wanted to go. Would I let myself go? That was the real question I was struggling with.

Which one of your characters will you have talking to that same character?

Day 114 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write the question your story will answer.

Shannon: What is inside Mr. Withers’ house?

Erin: How many times do you have to do something to become an expert?

To know when we are finished we must know where we are trying to go?

Day 113 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Pick the title for a weekly ongoing story.

Erin: A First Time for Everything

Shannon: Wake the House

Pick your starting point.

Day 112 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write the pictures’ story.

Shannon: During college I had a job working for an art studio, and I wasn’t hired to monitor anyone or help them find supplies. I was hired by a student who was on mission to make a name for herself by finding scrappy ways to sell her art. I wasn’t even making minimum wage off of the sales she was bringing in, but it was the best job I ever had.

I’m not sure exactly why she chose me over other students to assist her. We were in a class together, but all she ever saw of my work was a picture I took of a unique outdoor staircase in my hometown and a glass window painting.

My favorite art pieces were the slow shutter light pictures she’d have me capture. They always turned out beautiful, and she always had a concept to convey. I wished they could be seen outside of the frame. They were powerful and I wanted that power to be real.

Erin: “That’s beautiful,” I was in complete amazement of the artwork my sister had made overnight.

“I thought so too. But see I am quite sleep deprived at the moment so I am not in the right mindset to make that call.” She giggled at her masterpiece. For what reason, I am not sure.

“Was there a motive for this sudden night painting,” I asked.

“I dreamed of the fire man chasing me around the never-ending staircase,” her eyes grew as she took in her work.

“Okay crazy,” I walked away, because she was an artist and it wasn’t my place to try and understand her brand of uniqueness.

What’s their story?

Day 111 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a lost character.

Erin: I don’t know what I want to do with my life. All I know is that this place I have ended up is pure torture. Somewhere along the line I made a wrong turn. I’m not sure which one it was or where I made it, but I am determined to undo my mistake. I will too, once I decide where to start.

Shannon: “We’ve been here before,” my friend, Jenna, pointed out solemnly.

“How would you know that every place we go looks the same,” I argued.

“I made a mark on this tree,” she pointed at her distinct carving. “I thought you might be leading us in a circle. Are we lost?”

I was about ready to take one more round of searching before I let her in on the panic, but she already seemed pretty calm. “Yeah I think we might be, but we just need to find a road and get out of the woods. It’s just getting so dark and it’s so quiet. Do you have idea what direction we should try next?”

She was still calm, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You get us lost and don’t mention it, because you didn’t want to worry me,” she reviewed my logic out loud. “You don’t get to drag somebody down with you without giving them all the facts,” she was angry, but I knew it wasn’t just about being lost. “What if I knew how to get out at some point? Then I could have saved us both, but I got caught up in your mess?”

“I’m sorry,” I spoke genuinely, “but did actually know where we were at some point?”

“We’ll never know.” She glared at me before walking off into the direction she wanted try next.

Where in the world is your character?

Day 110 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Make your character sick.

Shannon: “You okay,” I questioned. “You’ve been sleeping all day. Do you think you need to go in to the doctor?” He looked disoriented and cold as he snuggled into the couch with the blanket he’d been keeping around his shoulders.

“No I can beat it,” he whispered, barely keeping his eyes open. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Why are you so afraid of going to the doctor? They can only help,” I reminded him.

He shook his head slightly. “I’m not afraid of getting better, or seeing the doctor. I just don’t like what it means if I’m sitting in the waiting room with handful of other sick people.”

“What’s does it mean?”

He turned to his back. “It means I need help to get my body back under control.” He sighed. “That’s not an easy thing for me to accept.”

Erin: The first time that I was sick and on my own, I didn’t know what to do. I’m the type of person who is crippled with pain in their illness. But there is only so long that a person can lay in bed and cry.

I found out that my record is 2 days. Excluding trips to the bathroom obviously. After that period of time my stomach growling overrides my pain. I squirm to the kitchen. Once I make that progress I’m empowered to do so much more.

I ingest medicine as well. I progress from saltines to full blown chicken soup and tea. I dress, and eventually I shower. I steam out some of my toxin. Then when I start to feel better I am unstoppable and can go about my day almost as normal.

Your character is not feeling well, how does that manifest?

Day 109 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Have your character consider their odds.

Erin: “Let’s get a lottery ticket,” my roommate suggested.

“Nope.”

“Why not,” she ran into my room and started bouncing on my bed.

“We don’t have any money,” I reminded.

“Exactly,” she screamed.

“We can’t afford to throw any money away.”

“We’re not going to, we’re going to win,” she lied.

“Were going to lose like 99.9999% of the population.”

“We’re going to lose, so were going to play,” she cheered and ran away before I could argue.

Shannon: If I do this I don’t know what I’ll get out of it. What are the odds anything will actually change? What are the odd things will just stay the same, or get worse? Then I get my hopes up for nothing. It’s not like I have much choice. Nothing is going to change if I don’t do anything, but what happens to me when I fail?  People keep advising me it couldn’t hurt to try, but rejection is never fun, and it’s never as easy as advertised. I guess over time you just get used to it. Well forget the odds, and the pain, because I’m going for it. 

Are the odds in your character’s favor?

Day 108 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Create a situation that is dangerous, but beautiful.

Shannon: “It’s kind of beautiful though, isn’t it,” Leo observed, tugging back the sheer curtains to peak out the window.

“You find the world ending in a domino effect of man-made explosions beautiful?” I was starting to believe his inevitable death was getting to him.

“No, not the weapons,” he clarified. “People’s reactions,” he tied back the curtain, letting the light fill the room. “I thought everyone would freak out, find shelter, and act like complete savages in their final moments,” he smirked, continuing to watch. “They’re all just doing exactly want they want to do, and they’re with the people they want to spend their last hours with. Everyone is living in the moment. Everyone,” he was in awe.

I walked up next to him to see it too, and I wanted to stay cold and angry because I was being deprived of life here, but my heart felt a childlike joy that begged me to join the rest of them. Some were dancing, some were hugging, and other people were even throwing water and other fun things at each other. It looked like a celebration. “Let’s go,” I decided impulsively.

“Really,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Let’s go down in style. Race you outside,” I quickly challenged before running to the door.

Erin: “I don’t even recognize you anymore,” I could hear the disappointment in my brother’s voice.

“Well, I’m a changed man,” I offered adjusting my tie.

“You’re boring and worried about stupid shit,” he countered.

“You’re mad at me for being responsible,” I asked for clarification.

“I am mad at you for loosing yourself is some girl. You are wasting your time and money on getting her everything she points her finger at. You are planning a wedding that is going to financially cripple you for years. You only ever do what she wants to on weekends. Then when you do hang out with us, she’s around, and you act like you are too high and mighty for our sense of humor.”

“She’s not some girl. She is the girl. Ray is the most beautiful amazing girl I have ever met. She’s made me a better man. If you don’t like her you don’t have to be a part of our wedding.”

“Maybe I won’t,” I started walking away. Then I stopped to say one more thing. He was my best friend. I owed him that much. “If she was the one, she would fit with you as the friend I used to know. You’re not a better man, you’re just a different man. Plus, loved ones are supposed to make you smile more, I’ve seen your cute little smirk less man. Just stop and make sure this is what you want to do.”

What’s underneath the surface of your story’s pretty exterior?